


A Winter's Night

by fortunata13



Category: Legend of the Seeker
Genre: F/F, Feelings, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-23
Updated: 2012-10-23
Packaged: 2017-11-16 21:56:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/544253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortunata13/pseuds/fortunata13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU in which Kahlan finds Cara after she's beaten and left to die by her sisters. Romance ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Winter's Night

Kahlan holds her in her arms, indulging for a moment in the illusion of stasis. Would that they could stay this way, the two of them, in this tangled mess of limbs that is their lovemaking. Their room, lit by the moon alone, smells of roses and passion. Outside, the roar of winter rips through the trees, but for warmth, they have each other. That is enough. She’s still frail, the lovely woman with the golden skin and the bright, bright eyes but she doesn’t want this to end so she struggles against sleep. Perhaps she too longs for stasis. “Rest now, please,” Kahlan says, kissing her forehead, her eyelids, and finally her lips.

 

On this night the Mother Confessor of the Midlands feels at the mercy of all things. “Stay the same,” she says to life and love and the world before her, but most of all to this beautiful stranger she’s taken as a lover. “Please stay the same.” There is, alas, a world to save and a Seeker to protect and even a nation to govern; nothing ever stays the same.

That she even saw her was a miracle. The only thought on her mind as she galloped through the clearing was getting back to Richard and the wizard. To call it a glimpse would be too much, this flash of color in the ravine, this passing impression that pulled at her with enough force to cause her to turn back. And there she was, a young woman stripped naked, beaten, and left to die –– her golden tresses hacked off, lying in the bramble.

For a moment Kahlan thought her dead for surely if her injuries hadn’t killed her, the cold would have. Still, she dismounted her steed and knelt beside her. “Spirits, you’re alive,” she said to the woman, taking off her own cloak and covering her with it. With the woman drifting in and out of consciousness, it took all of Kahlan’s strength to prop her up on the horse. She wrapped her arm around the woman’s slender waist, holding her in place. She was strong; Kahlan could feel her lean, muscular build. This wasn’t a peasant or a farmer’s wife, this was a warrior.

With the snow rapidly approaching, Kahlan knew of only one place where they could seek shelter, the Margrave’s castle up on a hill less than a league away. As was his custom, he’d taken leave of it for the winter and would not return until spring. “Help me,” she said to the old groundskeeper who, even in her travel dress, recognized her and complied without hesitation.

The two of them managed to get her up to the Margrave’s chambers. Kahlan wrapped her in several blankets while the groundskeeper prepared a hot bath. “I have to get back to my wife before the snow comes, but the kitchen is well stocked. I will return in three days,” he said. Kahlan nodded and tended to the woman who was as cold as death and hadn’t uttered a word since she’d found her. Still, she was breathing. That alone was cause for hope.

Finding it impossible to get her into the tub, Kahlan added wood to the furnace beside the bed and did her best to clean the woman’s wounds with a hand towel. With every layer of dirt she removed, she found more cuts and bruises, but also hidden beneath the filth and evidence of abuse, she found beauty. Even the cut on her lip and the gash on her temple didn’t detract from perfect features which seemed carved by the hand of a gifted artist. By the golden hue of her skin, Kahlan discerned that she wasn’t a Midlander, Galean maybe or perhaps D’haran.

For days, Kahlan watched over her, moistening her lips to keep her hydrated, speaking words of encouragement, and promising to find whoever harmed her and bring them to justice. She couldn’t be certain the woman could hear but, if nothing else, it made Kahlan feel better to do it. When she finally opened her eyes, a smile as bright as the sun greeted her.

She tried to lift herself from the bed, but her hand went to her temple. “What happened to me?” she asked, wrinkling her forehead and gingerly turning her head to assess her surroundings.

“You were beaten, but please don’t be frightened, you’re safe here.” When Kahlan ran her fingers through her hair, the woman flinched at first but then allowed it. It was only natural that she’d react that way after what she’d experienced.

“I’m sorry about before. After watching over you for so many days, I feel as if we are old friends but obviously we are not,” Kahlan said. “Tell me, what is your name?”

Under different circumstances, Cara would have been the one asking the questions –– and not in that gentle tone –– but without her weapon, or even her leathers, she thought it best to present a milder version of herself. “You saved my life, I suppose that was friendly enough. My name is Cara.” She tilted her head and pursed her lips, noticing for the first time how lovely she was, this woman who scraped her off the ground after her sisters’ betrayal. 

Kahlan chuckled, covering her mouth with her hand for a moment. “You do that thing with your lips in your sleep as well. Oh, and my name is Kahlan.” With that, she dashed toward the door, and looking back over her shoulder, said, “Don’t move, I’ll be back shortly.” 

She returned with two warm bowls of stew, mercifully prepared by the groundskeeper’s wife after he’d mentioned the unappetizing smell of Kahlan’s regrettable forays into the culinary arts. “This is very good,” Cara said, finishing it at an accelerated rate.

“Thank you.” While she hadn’t prepared it, she’d successfully reheated it and poured it into the bowls without any spillage –– certainly a worthy accomplishment. It was odd being in this place that stripped her of her magic. To look into someone’s eyes and see nothing felt as if she were wandering the world blindfolded. But there was also a lightness about it, a freedom that came with being extraordinarily ordinary. Which she preferred, impossible to know.

Noticing Cara had emptied her bowl in record time, she offered up her own, but Cara declined. It was in her nature to take kindness as suspect, or weakness. This woman, however, was different. There was no weakness in her and that she was genuine was unquestionable. But for as much as this lovely woman intrigued her, there was a score to settle.

“Would it be possible to borrow a horse from you? I have no coin but I give you my word it will be returned to you.” Kahlan narrowed her eyes, as if the woman were speaking in tongues.

“You’d be waist-deep in snow if you even managed to open the door. We’re snowed in for at least a fortnight.” Kahlan could not read her but she could see the rush of conflicting emotions she was experiencing –– awe, anger, and frustration in equal proportions. “Is my company really that bad?” The attempt at humor earned her a lopsided hint of a smile.

“Is it really snowing?” Cara asked with an unmistakable hint of excitement in her voice.

“It is. I’ll prove it to you but you have to hold on to me.” Kahlan wrapped her in a blanket and helped her to her feet with an arm firmly wrapped around Cara’s waist, and Cara’s arm slung over her shoulder. By the ease with which she bore her weight, Cara knew this was no ordinary housewife. She could feel the calluses on her hostess’s right hand. This woman had handled a sword and other weapons as well.

When Cara looked out the window, her entire face lit up –– very much like a child unwrapping a long-awaited gift. They stayed there, side by side, for a full candlemark, Cara gazing out at the snow, Kahlan gazing at Cara gazing out at the snow. There was something about the way the corners of her lips curled, and the flicker in her eyes that made it impossible for Kahlan to look away. It was when she noticed Cara’s shivers that she said, “Let’s get you back into bed or you’ll be frozen stiff.”

Cara pictured herself an ice sculpture or a glacier in all its magnificence. She’d never thought of herself as anything other than what she was but the snow and the ice blue of her hostess’s eyes inspired those sorts of thoughts.

“You live here alone?” Cara asked, noticing the lavish decor and the labyrinth of hallways.

“Spirits, no, I don’t live here at all. The lord of this castle is an acquaintance. His groundskeeper recognized me and gave us shelter,” Kahlan said, just as they entered the Margrave’s chambers. For as much as the pedantic little man annoyed her, she was grateful for the creature comforts his home offered.

“Let’s get you into bed. I’ll heat up the bathwater. I cleaned you up as best as I could but you’ll feel much better after a proper bath.” She lowered Cara onto the bed as if she were something precious and delicate, like a rose petal or a butterfly. Cara found it jarring for a moment but when a gentle palm on her cheek followed, she felt a warmth behind her ribcage that was vaguely familiar, a distant memory of having been loved long ago, in a life that was no longer her own. This was the first time she’d missed that life and all of the feeling she had no name for. She curled up on her side and watched Kahlan stoke the wood in the furnace and test the temperature of the water until she deemed it perfect. How lovely she was; even while engaging in mundane tasks, she was graceful and elegant like a woman of great worth, like a queen. She’d never met a queen but she imagined that’s how queens were, lovely and beautiful and elegant.

“Come on,” Kahlan said, extending her hand. Cara accepted the assistance and rose to her feet, tossing away the blanket. Frozen in place, Kahlan’s face glowed crimson red, doing her best to look away but for a long moment her eyes refused to obey. The smirk on Cara’s face did little to quell her embarrassment. “We’ll have to find you some clothes,” Kahlan said, after swallowing the lump in her throat. She wore the blush well so Cara decided that, during their time together, she’d make every effort to see it often. 

Kahlan washed Cara’s hair and scrubbed her back, counting the scars on her body, both old and new, but the ache it caused in her heart made her lose count. Who was it that failed to keep this woman well, and more importantly, who was her abuser?

“The water is getting too cold for you,” Kahlan said, helping her out of the tub and swaddling her with a towel. “Let’s see if I can find you something to wear.”

As evidenced by the contents of her wardrobe, the Margrave’s wife had a predilection for frilly pink dresses for that was all Kahlan could find. When she walked out with what she considered to be the prettiest one, Cara looked at her as if she were a hired assassin or ax murderer out for every last drop of her blood.

“You don’t like it?” Kahlan asked, crestfallen. Unable to bear the look of disappointment on Kahlan’s face, with a feigned smile Cara accepted her fate. She slipped into the vile thing and stood before her for inspection. “I’m guessing it’s not your usual style but I think you look beautiful.” The smile on Kahlan’s face made it worth it –– barely. “At least the groundskeeper won’t see you naked,” Kahlan offered, helpfully.

That night Kahlan warmed and served their meal and, in her pink dress, Cara sat across the table from her, thanking the Creator –– and even the Keeper–– that no one other than Kahlan and perhaps the old groundskeeper, would witness her humiliation. They drank the Margrave’s wine and indulged in some sweets they found in the kitchen. Surely the Margrave would be honored to serve the Mother Confessor of the Midlands, Kahlan decided. She’d repay any expenses, of course, but she saw no harm in her actions.

Until late into the night, they sat before the large windows in the great hall and looked up into the night sky. Cara tried to count snowflakes but soon recognized the futility of such an endeavor, opting instead to help Kahlan find constellations. Neither of them had paid much attention during their astronomy lessons, leaving them with no choice but to make up their own. Cara came up with names such as foot and horse and shoe. Each time, Kahlan tipped her head and reluctantly nodded her support. When she spotted a particularly bright cluster of stars, Kahlan christened it Constellation Cara. In an effort to never confuse it with some inferior group of stars, Kahlan borrowed a quill and a parchment from the Margrave’s study and took great care in mapping Constellation Cara for posterity.

“You must never misplace this parchment,” Kahlan said in her gravest tone, “and whenever you look up and find Constellation Cara you must promise to remember our time together.”

Cara looked at her for a long moment, memorizing every detail of her beautiful face. “I give you my word,” she said.

For the days that followed, they found various ways to amuse themselves. Kahlan would make up silly songs and much to Cara’s amazement, deliver them in perfect pitch. Cara had a curious knack for reading entire paragraphs backwards, leaving Kahlan to scratch her head, attempting to decipher the jumbled mess of sound she’d just heard. The two of them filled the Margrave’s castle with laughter –– both discarding the possibility that there could be any other place in the world where they should be. And even if there were, the snow made it impossible to leave. Cara and Kahlan both loved snow.

It was the night on which the groundskeeper’s wife’s stew ran out, that Kahlan was forced to confess her domestic inaptitude. She presented Cara with a bowl of an inscrutable gray mush that reeked of soggy socks. They agreed that at the count of three, they’d simultaneously swallow a spoonful –– they were in this together, after all. Neither, however, managed to get their spoon beyond their chin, for catching a whiff of it foretold certain death if they were to ingest it.

After a moment of awkward silence, they both laughed so hard they ended up rolling on the floor. When the laughter died down, they found themselves breathing the same breath, lips a hairsbreadth apart. Kahlan’s eyes went to Cara’s lips; on that night they became lovers.

“I’d very much like to kiss you,” Kahlan said.

“I’d very much like it if you did,” said Cara.

Kahlan pressed their lips together with so much tenderness that, for a moment, Cara felt herself shatter into a thousand pieces, and then become whole again. Only there was more of her than had been there before. Hand in hand, they returned to the Margrave’s bedchambers. They stood beside the bed, knowing that they both wanted the same thing. It was Cara who reached out her hand to tug at the laces of Kahlan’s dress.

Before she could reach them, Kahlan took hold of Cara’s hand and pressed it to her lips. “I’ve never done this before,” she said, with more vulnerability than she’d ever allowed herself. “With a man or woman,” she added in a tiny voice. 

Cara furrowed her brow, taking in the implication of her words. “And you want your first time to be with me?” Cara asked, her voice breaking a bit with every word.

“I do,” Kahlan said, guiding Cara’s hand back her laces.

Cara had taken many lovers in her young life and never, until this day, had her hands trembled during the act of disrobing a woman. When Kahlan stood before her in nothing but her own milky-white skin, Cara’s breath caught in her throat. “You’re too beautiful for words,” she said. Kahlan looked up at her through her lashes with a smile that was all coyness and nerves. Doing away with the pink monstrosity that covered her own form, Cara held her in a long embrace before guiding her to the bed.

Their lovemaking was slow and tender at first –– an exploration of a new and wondrous territory for which an entire lifetime would not suffice. “Spirits, how did I ever live without you?” Kahlan said, arching into Cara’s mouth. When she felt Cara inside her for the first time, her hips flew off the bed, wanting more of her, wanting all of her. She came undone like that, with Cara’s lips and tongue tending to her most sensitive place and her dexterous fingers filling her. Cara held her through her climax, and suddenly remembering the word for one of those feelings she could no longer name, she pressed her lips to the shell Kahlan’s ear and said, “I love you.” Slumber found them clinging to each other, whispering secret promises that death alone could break.

On that night, behind closed lids, Kahlan saw the dream walker for the second time, only the child was no longer blind. Eyes like emeralds looked backed at Kahlan standing in a field of a million white roses, maybe more. “You’ve done well, Kahlan Amnell,” said the child that had been blind and could now see, “your kind will live on.”

Lying in her arms, Cara dreamt for the first time in more years than she could recall. In this dream, she lived a thousand lives, warrior, mother, hero, saint, sinner, and so much more. The single thread that held these lives together was Kahlan, salve for her wounds, quencher of her thirst, and path to redemption.

Neither spoke of their dreams.

They spent their days and nights making love, occasionally visiting the kitchen, living on the Margrave’s sweets and an assortment of salted meats they found stashed away in the cupboard. As was their habit, in the evenings, they sat by the large window in the great hall and searched for Constellation Cara. “The snow is beginning to melt,” Kahlan said. The thought filled her with dread. She wrapped her arms around Cara, indulging for a moment in the illusion of abeyance.

And this is their life now, held together by two illusions: stasis and abeyance, neither of which can last. Kahlan finds herself in love with a beautiful stranger who has no last name, and for all she knows, had lain frozen in that ravine, waiting for her since the beginning of time.

The end of time arrives sooner than expected. “Mother Confessor,” says the groundskeeper, “thank the Creator you’re both well.” He’d found them in the kitchen wrapped in blankets for warmth, enjoying their sweets and dried meat. It was the snow that kept him away, he explained.

“Kahlan,” Cara says, “Kahlan Amnell, Mother Confessor of the Midlands.” Hers is a name every Mord’Sith knows, but until this moment, she hadn’t made the connection. Cara leaves the kitchen, not knowing what to do with this new information. A Mord’Sith in love with a Confessor isn’t a topic that had been addressed in her training.

“Cara, what’s wrong?” Kahlan asks, following her into the Margrave’s bedchamber.

“Why didn’t you tell me who you are?” Cara asks, her words filled with anguish.

“Does it matter?” Kahlan asks. Countless times people had shuddered with fear at the sight of her, but to see that familiar look in Cara’s eyes tears her to shreds. “I am the Mother Confessor, yes, but I am also a woman. Is it that you can’t love all of me?”

“No, it isn’t that at all. It is you who could never love what I am.”

“Let me decide what I can and cannot do. You owe that much,” Kahlan says.

For three candlemarks, they sit side by side on the bed while Cara plays minstrel, narrating the story of her own life. It begins on the day of her ninth birthday when she was dragged away by five Mord’Sith, and ends on the day she was beaten by a dozen Mord’Sith and left to die. Kahlan listened without prejudice, sometimes horrified, others heartbroken by her tale –– aptly bookended by the Sisters of the Agiel. The things Cara had done were only surpassed in cruelty by the things that were done to her.

She is the Mother Confessor of the Midlands. How to balance her heart and her head, when she’s fallen in love for the first time? It is then that the Seeker of Truth comes to mind, reminding her of something he’d said on more than one occasion. ‘I believe people can change’ were the words he’d used and on this day Kahlan decides to adopt this belief, that having thought it naïve, she’d previously rejected. What could be more transformative than love?

“You’ve told me who you were and what you did. I know you only as loving, gentle, and beautiful. Which of these is the truth of who you are? Please don’t lie to me,” Kahlan says, with tears running down her cheeks.

Cara thinks long and hard before answering. “I only know that even if you send me away, every day I will try to be a person who deserves to be loved by someone like you.”

“And all I know is that there is still no one I would rather love, or have love me.”

Kahlan and Cara leave the Margrave’s castle the next morning, and stop at a tailor to free Cara of her pink chiffon prison, replacing it with a set of well-cut red leathers. They are not Mord’Sith issue but Cara doesn’t seem to mind. After a long talk, the Seeker accepts Kahlan’s decision and welcomes Cara into their fold. In their very next confrontation, Cara regains her weapon, and even adds a spare. Day in and day out, she uses them to protect her three travel companions, with little regard for her own well-being. 

When the war is won, Kahlan returns to Aydindril victorious, and with Cara as her mate. To this day neither is sure if it was powerful magic, or magical love, but nine months later, a baby girl with Kahlan’s coloring and Cara’s features is born to them. Rose is the first of many little Confessors who now fill the palace with laughter and joy. It is fair to say that they lived happily ever after.

**Author's Note:**

> Of the fifty or so stories I've written, this is my favorite.


End file.
